


Puzzle Pieces

by ophiion



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Light Angst, pointlessly flowery and not proof read, spoilers for ep 99
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophiion/pseuds/ophiion
Summary: The Complicated feelings of a Cleric in peril.





	Puzzle Pieces

They would be an awful fit, like two wrong puzzles pieces shoved together and held in place with more glue and faith than one would ever imagine. This is what she tells herself as she watches all the little ways he tries to get her locked mind to open to him again. His prayers to her goddess and his poetry and the soft concern on his face when she does something reckless. They would be like a hurricane, like wrong and right all mixed together. Though she would sink into him in a moment if he said the right the thing and murmured the right way. Pike has danced with demons before but never one dressed in purple silks with mischievous eyes.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder but she surmises that it might just make the heart angry, into a twisted knot of discomfort that screams and begs to be held but even when the touch desired is given the damage is not fixed. Though she has found that with time and comfort and the feeling of him being nearby the knot relaxes. The ache in her chest subsides a little bit, he plucks her a flower one day and she is confused but she accepts it. The friendliest of gestures though there is a shed of something golden in her that almost makes her wonder if he does mean something deeper. She pushes the thought down like the bubbling in her stomach, it would only make it worse to torture herself with maybes and could-haves and should-haves.

She finds herself alone, perched on a bench and lost somewhere in thought. She had sobbed when he died, broken and wretched. The memories flash around her head and her eyes and she doesn’t quite realise that the tears that are rolling down her face are being caused by her overwhelming emotions she can’t express to him or to anyone. Her body is exhausted and begins to move with each passing sob. The sound is ugly.

She senses he has been there for a moment and turns her head, there he stands, Shorthalt in all his confusion and discomfort. He approaches her slowly, frightened, shy. She allows him close, she has missed being able to reach out and touch his shoulder. He reaches out to run his fingers along her cheek and she feels herself suddenly vulnerable.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs.

“Me too.” She responds in kind.

They would be a terrible fit. Perhaps they would be terrible enough to work.


End file.
